I’m Afraid of the B&H Photo Superstore.

In the heart of Midtown Manhattan, just around 34th street, there's a place so chaotic, so overstimulating that I require mental preparation just to think about going – and it’s surprisingly not Penn Station. It’s the B&H Photo Superstore. A store that has everything.

Literally. Everything. It’s an absolutely endless, multistory flagship shop with everything a digital creator could want.

I find myself making this journey every two weeks. While I usually intend to stock up on necessary supplies for my introductory film photography class, I often get lost in a whirlwind of creative possibilities. It's a dilemma that I'm sure many artists and hobbyists can relate to: the paradox of having too many choices in the world of content creation. Not to mention, the struggle of being a broke creative in her early twenties.

Is this not the most stressful image? Am I crazy?

As I step through the doors of B&H, I'm immediately greeted with a sensory overload of equipment, gadgets, and media technology. On paper, this place should be my heaven. From cameras of every format and lens, to audio equipment, lighting solutions, and post-production tools – it's all here. My heart races at the thought of experimenting with the pro audio equipment, but the excitement is coupled with an overwhelming sense of panic. My most impressive stream of tears was recently shed inside B&H. Though my wallet suffers most of all (as I’m quickly learning that my film class requires close to a hundred dollars worth of new material per week), I’m learning that the endless possibilities within the store have resulted in an identity crisis. What am I doing with my skills?

The crux of the issue lies in the abundance of choices. It's like standing before a vast buffet, deciding which dish to savor first. I am torn between creative pursuits – from traditional film photography to video production, audio recording, and digital post-processing. The possibilities are endless, and they can often paralyze rather than empower the creative spirit. I find myself worried that I’m neglecting my first love–music. Then I see the shiny new Mac computers and remember my YouTube channel gathering dust on the internet. And of course, the analog photo area reminds me that I need to shoot four rolls of film in three days, even though I spend most of my time on my computer researching career paths for someone with a skillset as chaotic as mine. 

I consider this feeling to be the opposite of creative burnout. B&H triggers a manic creative episode in my psyche, and it’s not fun. In complete transparency, I am procrastinating a routine film pickup at this very moment. The thought of getting on the downtown A train fills me with nausea. I desperately want to know if others feel the same way as me. Perhaps it’s because I’m on the brink of graduation. Maybe the price tags on several items are enough to convince me that a career in digital media will send me into irreversible debt. Are there therapists for this kind of issue? 

To the poor teenager who watched me cry while putting my $160 pack of photo paper on the checkout counter, I am sorry. Your store just reminds me that my future has a lot of options, and frankly, I’m terrified.